


The First Meeting

by Lady_Anonymia



Category: Victubia - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Victorian, But if you don't you should read this anyway, But they're both dating other people so, Canonical relationships, I need more people to be in this fandom, Jack is kinda flirting with Cry, Victubia, You've probably got to know about Victubia before you read this, and vice versa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-08 02:04:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7739233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Anonymia/pseuds/Lady_Anonymia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a snowy night, Lord Felix Kjellberg, otherwise known as Lord PewDiePie, trekked into the woods in an effort to record a paranormal event for his weekly radio show. What he encountered, and what it led him to, was much more than he bargained for.<br/>An account of the very first meeting between Lords PewDiePie, Kenneth, and Cryaotic. It was not the ideal introduction for any of the parties involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Lucky Tip

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this picture: http://gabbi.deviantart.com/art/Victubia-The-First-Meeting-479215869  
> The Victubia AU was created by Gabrielle Nilsson.

Felix tramped through the snow, shivering as an icy wind blew through the trees in the thick woods. The falling of the snow was waning. The full moon was at its highest in the sky: midnight, the witching hour.

Felix stopped to make sure his recorder was on. This was probably the best and worst anonymous tip he'd gotten in awhile. There had been a recent lull in paranormal activity around Victubia, which gave Felix more free time and more angry radio listeners clamoring for more paranormal escapades. The tip had arrived just in time to save his broadcasting career. On the other hand, it was a ghost that only appeared on a night like this: snowy, cold, at midnight, under the full moon. As much as Felix would rather be in his brand-new house next to his cozy fireplace with his wife, Marzia, he had a job to do, and he'd be damned if he left this creepy forest without getting it done.

The snow crunched as Felix made his way through the woods to the clearing he had been instructed to go to. He didn’t really have a plan as far as what he was going to do when the ghost appeared. This was usually the case, though; Felix rarely had or needed a plan when approaching ghosts, thanks to his sixth sense. _The_ Sense.

Only about 9% of the population had as strong of a Sense as Felix had. It enabled him to talk with ghosts, to reason with them, and it made it a hell of a lot easier to find them. It might be true that many of the “ghosts” Felix encountered were poltergeists—non-corporeal beings created from fear, whose only purpose was to cause others suffering—but some were real ghosts, with unfinished business, or who had just been misunderstood by the inhabitants of the place they were haunting. The anonymous tip hadn't said whether the apparition was a ghost or a poltergeist, which made it harder to prepare what little he had to. That didn't matter, though. Felix was sure everything would go fine.

It always did.

Felix could see the clearing through the thin line of trees. He was working his way through a particularly troublesome tangle of woody vines when he heard shots.

He ducked instinctively, clutching at his precious top hat, and one of the bullets whizzed past where his head had been. In the distance, a man’s angry voice rang out, although the rushing of blood in Felix’s ears was too loud for him to make out what was being said. The thorns on the vines he was stuck in pricked his skin, and he cursed quietly. Felix didn’t dare to move, even to breathe. His heart pounded in his chest, waiting for the final shot, but it never came.

It was all silent now, and the snow had stopped falling. Felix wasn’t able to tell whether the gun-man was in front or behind him, and he didn’t want to find out. He had to get out of this spiny bush sometime, though.

Felix stood up hesitantly, feeling at his face for blood. Luckily, the thorns hadn’t punctured the skin, just scratched it. He looked around to see if the attacker was close to him, and heard more shots. Felix flinched, but it seemed like whoever was shooting either had bad aim or wasn’t aiming for him.

Felix made his way into the clearing, hoping that the open space would make it easier for him to see. He finally made his way through the bush and stepped out into the clearing.

The stars seemed much brighter out here than they did in the city. The evergreens on both sides of the clearing loomed ominously over Felix’s head. He wasn’t quite sure what to do: there was a gun-man out here somewhere, but he had to catch this ghost if he wanted to continue his radio show.

Suddenly, a person burst from the line of trees on the other side of the narrow clearing. Felix was only barely able to dodge them as they barreled towards him, looking back at the thicket they had come out of.

The two made eye contact, and in one fluid motion, he and the man revolved around each other in a simple, graceful dance. Felix drew his broadsword and the other man extended his right arm quickly, although to Felix it seemed as though time had slowed between them. When the dance was done, Felix’s sword was at the man’s throat, and the man’s hand was pointed towards Felix’s chest, shining shards of magic circling lazily around it in the air.

Now that Felix had a chance to see the man, he was more than unnerved by his appearance. He seemed to be fairly normal. The man’s light skin—what little Felix could see of it, anyway—seemed to glow under the moon. He had short, dark brown hair, messy around his face: that is, if you could call it a face. In fact, Felix was unsettled by the absence of that very thing. Where there should have been features, there was only a white mask: at least, Felix thought it was a mask, although it didn’t seem to be attached to the man’s face with anything. The mask was expressionless. Only two large, vaguely almond-shaped eyes and a line served to identify the surface as the representation of a face.

Despite the prodding his Sense was giving him to keep a lookout for the ghost around here somewhere, Felix smirked, tipping his hat at the stranger. “To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

The stranger didn’t respond, although Felix could have swore he saw the “eyes” narrow at him briefly. The two men stood there for what seemed like hours, neither daring to attack for fear that he would be the one on the losing side.

“Who are you?” the man finally asked. “Why are you here?” His voice was... _strange_ , Felix supposed was a word for it. It was low, dangerous, _sultry_ , almost. He could feel the sounds flowing over his skin, and the tips of his fingers tingled. The voice had evoked a feeling, a feeling that was somehow familiar and yet entirely foreign.

“I could ask the same thing of you, friend,” Felix replied, smiling genially. “There aren’t many reasons to be out on a night like this. Especially not in your...ah, _suspicious_ attire.”

Felix didn’t hear or see anything, but the aura around the stranger changed when he said those words. The mystical blades pointed at Felix’s heart started to revolve faster around the man’s hand.

“It seems you have a death wish,” the stranger said, and Felix identified the feeling the stranger’s voice had awoken: fear. Legitimate fear. Felix had never encountered other people on his outings, and those rare few that he did were always scared, hiding, simply in need of help. This was different. No one had ever threatened to kill him, not unless they were a ghost. He thought of what scenarios would unfold if he died out here, alone, murdered by some mysterious man wearing a mask. Some things would take care of themselves: his carrier-duck business would continue to be managed by his older sister. But of course there were other things. What about all his fans? What about the pugs? What about— _oh god_ —what about Marzia, his beautiful, talented, amazing wife Marzia?

For a moment, he saw her, sitting in the olive green armchair by the fireplace, surrounded by boxes they still hadn’t unpacked. Everything in the lounge was blue except for that chair: it’s had been Marzia’s grandmother’s before she passed away. Marzia would often curl up there, writing another horror story, or drawing a new design for her boutique, or just sipping tea and smiling at him. For a moment, he wanted nothing more to do with the paranormal. For a moment, Felix wished that he and his wife never had to deal with the Sense.

But it was only for a moment.

Felix pressed the edge of his sword on the man’s throat. Not hard enough to draw blood, but enough for it to hurt. The stranger tilted his head to the other side, exposing more of his neck to the blade. He closed his hand slightly, and the blue translucent shards inched closer to Felix’s rapidly beating heart.

“When I close my hand, these knives will run straight into your chest,” the man said. It was quiet, but his words seemed to echo through the forest. “They will rotate quickly around your heart, cutting a perfect circle into your body. As your heart slides to the ground, you will still be conscious. In between gasps, you will beg for a quick death as you collapse, and then, I will leave.” In the span of a blink, Felix could've sworn the mask cracked, twisted, revealed a demented grin full of jagged teeth, with the eyes, the lifeless, static eyes, staying exactly the same. When he blinked again, the mask had reset to its neutral expression. “You will lay right here, in the snow, and bleed out over the course of a couple of hours. It's unlikely that someone will find you before your body's gone stiff or blackened from the cold.”

“Is that a challenge?” Felix retorted, tightening his grip on the handle of his sword.

The mask’s line turned up ever so slightly. The long fingers began to close.

Time slowed down. This man was obviously a mage, and although Felix himself did not possess any magical powers, he had a pretty good idea how they worked. If this quickly formulated plan went as it was supposed to, Felix would make it out alive and with few major injuries, if any. If not, he was going to have his heart painfully cut out of his chest by a mysterious masked stranger in the middle of a forest clearing. No one would ever know what had happened to him.

Felix grinned.

With a quick, practiced motion, Felix drew a dagger from inside his sleeve and threw it at the man’s torso, still holding the sword against his throat. As he had expected, the man used a shield to protect himself. The magical blades faltered, although only briefly; obviously whoever this was was more powerful than Felix had thought. That gave Felix just enough time to kick the stranger’s legs out from under him and grab his dropped dagger. As he drew away, his sword cut deep into the thin exposed skin of the man’s neck. The stranger cried out, falling to the ground with a thud. A weak bluish dome appeared around the man’s collapsed body. Through the dome, Felix could see that the man was actually bleeding from two places: his neck, where Felix had sliced through the skin, and another wound on the back of his body, lower right side. Felix stepped closer and leaned over the man. The blood had soaked through his jacket in a circle, more or less: it must have been a bullet wound. The shots Felix heard earlier; they had to be coming towards this guy. But who were they coming from?

Suddenly, a blue projectile flew at his face. Felix yelped girlishly and scrambled backwards, but he couldn’t stop the blade. His hat fell into the snow. The blade flew into his arm.

Felix cried out. His recording device detached itself from Felix’s coat, its fall muffled by the soft blanket of snow. The magical knife disappeared into the freezing wind, and Felix clutched at his injured left arm. He had only gotten this hurt on a few of his jobs, and he _hadn’t even found a fucking ghost yet._

The man had stood back up. Felix had no idea what this thing was; it seemed impervious to a sword and bullet wounds. Just a resilient human? Or something else?

A loud moaning attracted Felix’s attention. It was coming from the other end of the clearing. From here, he could only barely make any details out, but it was quite a beautiful sight. At first he thought it was a giant swan, maybe, but the more he looked the more he realized it was a woman. There, at the end of the clearing, was a floating, glowing woman wailing with her hand beckoning towards them. The snow layering the ground in the clearing began to glow as the woman rose higher and higher into the air. Felix’s Sense was going haywire: it was like alarm bells going off in his head.

 _Finally_.

As much as Felix wanted to go and interact with the ghost, learn more about it, and do what he needed to do for his career, he was in too much pain at the moment. The wound wasn’t too deep: obviously the mage casting it was still weakened, but that didn’t keep the wound from bleeding profusely and hurting like hell.

The man walked towards the ghost slowly, cautiously. Even in severe pain, Felix couldn’t help but admire the man’s tact. Obviously this wasn’t his first time investigating the paranormal. With good aim and a little bit of luck, Felix might be able to make this his last time.

Pushing himself into a sitting position with his uninjured arm, he removed another small dagger from his other sleeve. It’s a good thing he was right-handed. Closing one eye, he aimed for the man’s calf and threw the blade as hard as he could. As he had expected, the knife hit the man in the back of the leg, sinking through the man’s boot and cleanly separating his Achilles. He cried out and fell to the ground mid-stride, hitting the hardening snow with a crunch. The ghost wailed, flickering, before disappearing altogether. The snow’s luminescence faded, and once again the only source of reliable light was the moon and the weak lantern at Felix’s hip.

A small part of Felix wanted to lay in the snow for a while, letting the snow numb his violently throbbing arm, but at this point the majority of him wanted nothing more than to get out of this forest. He heaved himself onto his right forearm, and managed to get to his feet. Holding his bleeding arm, he stumbled his way back into the forest. Felix wasn’t going to make the mistake of sympathy again.

He forgot the top hat.

The forest was even more foreboding than before. Felix’s blood loss was making him dizzy and hallucinatory. It seemed as though the forest was elongating before him. He wondered if he would make it back to his carriage before morning at this rate. Maybe he’d have to hitch a ride home with someone...no, Mr. Chair wouldn’t leave him here like that, would he?

As he walked, the snow on his coat began to melt and seep through to his skin. His heart was racing, and he felt like he was going to collapse at any moment. It was only a little farther, he kept murmuring to himself, just a little farther...

That’s when the shots started.

A loud crack rang out through the trees. A bullet whizzed past Felix’s face, just barely scraping his right temple. It hurt, but not enough for him to scream. Felix was too disoriented to try and avoid the bullets at this point.

Another shot fired, and this time it didn't miss.

The next bullet tore through the layers of fabric Felix was wearing to make a deep groove in his left side. The sudden, sharp pain shocked Felix into a more alert state, and he cried out in pain. Clutching his arm and his side, Felix stumbled sideways into yet another thorn bush, and gritted his teeth as his ankle twisted on the way down. He could feel the sharp points digging into the flesh of his face as he cowered, clutching his side, and thought about how coincidental it would be for this thorn bush to be the same thorn bush he had hidden from shots in earlier.

More shots above his head. They were rapid now, and slowly getting closer. Had he still been standing (or trying to, at least), Felix would have been riddled with bullet holes.

What little Felix could make out of the world was fading into darkness. Everything was spinning and unsteady. He was cold, and hungry, and injured, and pretty fucking mad that he hadn’t gotten any usable recordings for 'Fridays with PewDiePie'. He was weak and his heart was beating so hard that his head was throbbing and everything in his body was so, so tired. God, was Felix tired. Maybe if he just closed his eyes for a few brief moments...


	2. The Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Lady Marzia treats Lord Felix's injuries, they try to figure out the culprit behind the Silent Woods incident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is sort of a filler chapter, as I wanted a chance to write for Marzia and show the dynamic between the two. Honestly, Melix is a ship that's very close to my heart, so I just really wanted to write a scene between Marzia and Felix.

He would wake up somewhere completely different, with the rising sun shining through the woods and melting snow off the branches of trees. Felix blinked a few times, disoriented, trying to get used to the bright light. A well-timed pile of snow fell off a branch at that moment, acting as yet another alarm clock.

Felix sputtered, now fully awake, and shot up. A familiar pain raced through his body and black spots appeared in his vision: he was still hurt, after all. Though his heartbeat was back to normal and all the blood had dried, the wounds hadn't disappeared overnight. As much as it hurt Felix to move, he had to get back home. He didn't want to end up losing any fingers to frostbite or anything: once the flesh had blackened and died, there was nothing the Green Mages could do but amputate it.

Speaking of, he wondered why he hadn't gotten frostbitten. Surely sleeping overnight on the ground would cause something to happen. A quick glance around yielded an answer: a campfire that had warmed a decently-sized circle in the snow, including where Felix had awoken. Judging by the smoldering ashes, it had only gone out a little while ago. He couldn't remember making it himself, and he wouldn't have if he'd had the time or energy to do it. So who had it been? Felix could think of only three people he had seen last night: the masked man, the gun-man, and the ghost. However, he knew nothing about any of them.

His anonymous tip had said that the ghost only appeared in that forest at that time, so he doubted that was his secret Samaritan. The only two left were the masked man and the gun-man, but it was impossible to choose which one would be more likely to help him. The masked stranger had seemed quite intent on killing Felix, and Felix had injured him quite severely in retaliation. However, it seemed to Felix that the man was also a paranormal investigator, and so maybe the sense of camaraderie had made the stranger forgive Felix and keep him from dying a cold death. The gun-man had seemed much less focused on killing Felix, or, at least, killing just Felix. Felix had no idea what the gun-man (or gun-woman, now that he considered it) looked like, or what their motivations were. There was as little reason for the gun-person to kill him as there was for them to help him.

Another quick scan around the area warranted a quiet curse as Felix realized he had no idea where his precious top hat was. What a loss! Truly it was his most valued wardrobe piece. It was a good thing he had a stash of extra top hats lying around in a couple of different boxes at home.

The thought of home motivated Felix forward. He rubbed his eyes, mumbling and stumbling to try and find the path to get back to the main road. He wondered if Mr. Chair was still waiting for him.

* * *

Felix was lounging on the couch when Marzia returned home. Actually, he wasn't so much "lounging" as he was "trying to relax but failing because of his wealth of injuries." Mr. Chair had indeed been waiting for him, and had been both perplexed and worried when his master came back bleeding from multiple wounds, damp and half delirious. After rushing Felix quickly to his own home, Mr. Chair had helped him inside, fussed over Felix (much to Felix's chagrin), and contacted Lady Marzia about her husband's state. It was still very early in the morning: only around 4:30, but Marzia always went into the shop early on Wednesdays. Something about getting the shop organized in the middle of the week. Personally, he had never seen the point of it, but it wasn't his boutique to manage.

He heard the front door open and shut. "Hi, Marzia," he called, his ribs aching with the force of having to raise his voice.

"What did you do this time, Felix?" Marzia's voice echoed from the foyer. Edgar and Maya, the couple's two pugs, skittered out from who knows where, their paws clicking on the hardwood floor.

"I didn't do anything," Felix replied, burying his face into a pillow. "I was wronged, _älskling_. Wronged!"

"Well, you're often wrong, so that isn't surprising," she replied. "You're just a l'il bit of a baby." Felix heard her walking into the room, and the pugs trotting onto the fluffy carpet in the lounge, trying to avoid the boxes still scattered around the room. Marzia shooed them out of the room.

Felix lifted his head and, at the sight of him, Marzia's large brown eyes widened, and her hands came over her mouth.

"Who's the baby now, hm?" Felix chuckled, but immediately winced from the pain.

Marzia stood in front of him and took his face in her hands lightly, sliding it from side to side. She softly brushed back his hair, exposing the wound on his right temple. "What happened to you?" she said, straightening and walking to the kitchen. Marzia wasn't squeamish, Felix knew: she'd dealt with her fair share of blood.

"People happened," Felix said, gritting his teeth and sitting up. "I got shot in the side, and in the head, and I got stabbed in the arm. I twisted my ankle, too, but that's my own damn fault."

"What?" Marzia said from the other room. Her voice had gotten higher. "There were...other people?"

"It certainly wasn't a ghost that threw a knife into my arm."

Marzia came back with bandages, a cloth, and a bottle of bourbon. "This is going to sting a l'il bit, okay, darling?" She poured some of the alcohol on the cloth. "Keep telling me about what happened: it'll keep your mind off the pain."

"Uh, I met a man in the woods. He was masked, heavy coat, some kind of mage. He, uh—" Felix sucked in a breath as Marzia pressed the damp cloth to his head and began dabbing at the open wound. She motioned for him to continued. "He threw magic into my arm. He was weak, so it wasn't very deep, though." Marzia motioned for him to take off his jacket and shirt, and he obliged. "He looked like a paranormal investigator. I mean, not from his attire, he approached the apparition like he'd done it before. I managed to get him pretty good: cut to the neck, dagger in the Achilles. And that's— _jävla fitta, fan_!"

"I'm sorry, darling," Marzia said, startled, drawing her hand back. Felix grimaced.

"You're fine, you're fine, it's not you. I just realized the damned mage-person made me forget my hat and my recording in that fucking clearing." He sighed. "Not only did he slice my arm open...just insult to injury, I mean, Jesus Christ."

Marzia rolled her eyes, but giggled nonetheless. Felix loved her laugh: it reminded him of the soft tinkling of bells. "You know we have more hats, right? You have 12 more hats in the closet now. And a new recorder can arrive in a week. I'd rather have you than a recording." She bandaged Felix's head and, satisfied, started disinfecting the wound on his upper arm. "When did you get the other injuries?"

"After I went back into the forest. That's when I got hit by the gun-man. Or woman, I'm not sure."

"You went back into the forest? Even though the apparition was right there?"

"By the time I'd incapacitated the mage and gotten to my feet, the ghost had disappeared. My arm hurt, the masked man was unconscious, and I wanted to get home, so I headed back the way I came. I was a little into the woods when I started hearing the shots. I had lost too much blood to really pay attention to the bullets flying through the air at that point."

Marzia thought on this for a second, setting the cloth down and wrapping the bandages around his arm. She pressed lightly on the wound, and Felix winced, the muscles in his arm jumping. After a moment, she said, "Do you think the person was shooting for you because they were working with the mage? Did you see if they were masked as well?"

"I never got a chance to see them, but I don't think so. When I first entered the forest, I heard shots, and while one almost hit me directly in the face, I don't think he was aiming for me."

Marzia scoffed. "A man you can't see almost kills you, and you think he wasn't shooting for you?"

"There were other shots! They fired off a lot more shots than just one and only one of them happened to go towards me. Either the gun-person had really bad aim or they weren't shooting for me. With what little I do know—" Felix gestured at his two bullet graze wounds, where the skin and top layer of flesh had been ripped away by the speeding bullet, "if they'd wanted to kill me the first time I was in the woods, they would have."

"But they missed, didn't they?" Marzia said, now starting on the last wound on Felix's side. She folded the cloth and poured more bourbon onto it.

"I don't think so. In the state I was in, they could easily have killed me. It's not as if—" Felix's breath caught in his throat as Marzia continued tending to his wounds. He started again. "It's not as if I was hard to hit. I was stumbling around like an idiot, and they were obviously conscious enough to keep shooting."

Marzia nodded thoughtfully. "So you think that they were aiming to knock you unconscious, as oppose to kill you."

"I could be completely wrong, but something tells me I'm on the right track here."

"Well, then, why would they have needed you unconscious? I don't think you could have done anything to them at that point, and if they weren't trying to hurt you, they had nothing to fear." Marzia turned to get more bandages and Felix got a good look at the injury on his side. It was much deeper than he'd originally thought: had the bullet been any closer to his body when it rocketed past him, it would have scraped a section of rib. Felix wasn't overly squeamish, but the sight of his own wet, pink flesh made him want to vomit.

Marzia went around Felix's torso with a bandage as Felix replied, "I'm not sure. So I wouldn't recognize them later?"

"Hmmm...anyways, you didn't finish with your story." Marzia handed Felix his shirt back.

"Uh, well," he said, pulling the shirt on, "I collapsed, and when I woke up I was next to a fire. I'm not sure who set it for me. After I'd gotten my bearings, I limped out to the carriage, and then I got here."

There was no response. Marzia was staring off into a corner a little behind him. Felix tapped her on the nose lightly, and she came out if the trance, wrinkling her nose and squeezing her eyes shut. She shook her head a little as though to get rid of a bothersome insect flitting around it.

"What is it, _älskling_? Did you feel something?"

"Something..." Marzia tilted her head, trying to remember. After a moment, she looked straight into Felix's eyes, the warm brown boring into the icy blue. "Something tells me this won't be the last time you see the people from the forest."


	3. The Reporter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A typical recording session of Fridays with Pewdiepie leads to a chance meeting with a famous reporter.

Nine days later, Marzia had finally allowed Felix to leave the house, if only for the purpose of broadcasting on time, and under the condition that Felix would take a cane with him in case something happened with his ankle. Now Felix sat in a waiting room of sorts at the station, leaning on his new duck-handled cane and idly tapping his fingers. A woman whom Felix hadn’t seen before now was sitting near him. She was the one who had ushered him in. She was short and heavy-set, with dark skin and a businesslike air about her. Her raven hair was up in a tight bun, and her back was impossibly straight. Though she’d been nice to him so far, Felix felt very uncomfortable around her.

The waiting room was much smaller than the recording studio. Felix shared the space with many other people. Smiling to himself, Felix wondered if the potted plant situation had gotten out of control yet. One of the other radio hosts, Phil, had a thing for plants, and had taken to placing them in different areas around the recording space.

In the other corner of the waiting room, there was a man on a typewriter. It wasn’t as large as many of the typewriters on the market. The man was hunched over it, typing furiously. All of his attire was red or black. A pair of glasses was on the desk next to him. Felix didn’t think he had seen him before. The woman noticed Felix’s interest in the man and took her cue.

"Milord, this is Lord Kenneth Morrison. He’s the editor of Toasty News, if you’re familiar with that," the woman said, gesturing at the other man. The man waved from where he was typing. She then turned to the man—Kenneth, Felix thought. “Milord, this is Lord Pewdiepie; he’s here for his weekly broadcasting. I’m positive you’re aware of what that is. Now if you'll excuse me, I needed to be in the conference room...” She pulled out a pocket watch. “...5 minutes ago.” The woman inclined her head towards both of them, and quickly made her exit.

Lord Kenneth finished whatever he was typing and stood. He was only an inch or two taller than Felix, with dark hair and the rugged look of an outdoorsman. "Just Ken’s fine," the man said, stepping towards Felix. His voice sounded somewhat familiar to Felix. Ken smiled and held out his hand. When he smiled, his eyes crinkled.

Felix shook his hand, introducing himself with his given name as opposed to his family name, but as he did, he noticed something on the man's arm. It was a long scar among many other, smaller ones, and though it was healed, it was obviously still new; Felix could practically smell the Green Spirit magic coming off of it.

"What happened?" he asked, releasing Ken’s hand and gesturing at the scar.  

“I was just followin’ a story. Somethin’— _someone_ , I should say—attacked me: nothin’ major. Injuries come with the territory in the reportin’ business.”

“It’s a pretty big scar...” Felix’s voice trailed. Something was off here. His Sense was doing backflips in his head.

“I’d tell you the story behind it, but it’s a long one.”

“Please, continue.”

Ken shot a look at Felix. It was something Felix couldn’t quite name: some combination of skepticism, confusion, and suspicion.

“Well, I was in the Silent Woods a few nights ago, just followin’ a story. Someone or somethin’ attacked me. I was too far away to see ‘em, but the projectiles were definitely magical. I’d take a guess and say it was an apparition. I know you have plenty of experience with those.” Ken inclined his head towards Felix before continuing.

“After that thing tore me t’ shreds, it left me alone for a l’il bit and I managed t’ sneak across the clearin’ t’ the other side of the woods. Somethin’ started coming towards me while I was over there, and I shot at it. Looking back, it might have been a person, and while I was out of it, I’m still a pretty good shot. I don’t think I mortally wounded ‘em, but...” Ken sighed, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t be able t’ live with myself if I found out I’d killed whoever that was. I really do hope I missed.”

The pieces were beginning to connect for Felix. Ken smiled a little. “Not really sure wh— ”

“You didn’t.”

Ken looked up, surprised. “What?”

"You didn't miss. And, while I could be wrong, I'd hazard a guess that you didn't kill me, either.”

Felix smiled weakly, and took off his hat, smoothing his dirty blond hair back to reveal the long wound made by the bullet. He heard the other lord gasp quietly. “I’d show you where you grazed my ribs, but I feel as though that’d be indecent.”

Ken’s eyes were wide with disbelief. “...it was you?”

“Most likely I was the second person you encountered. I wasn’t only attacked by you, and I’d assume the person who attacked me attacked you as well.”

Ken's brow furrowed. “Yeah, I distinctly remember buildin’ a fire for you, though I didn't take the time t’ look at your face in the darkness. Didn't want to stay long; I was afraid the first person I saw would come back. Did you ever get a good look at the assailant? Could you describe him t’ me?”

“Yes, I certainly saw him. Quite clearly, in fact,” Felix replied. His mind took him back to that moment in the woods, his broadsword at the stranger's throat, the man's strange ethereal glass shards pointed at his heart. “I doubt I could tell you much, though. All I could see was hair and magic. He was masked.”

“Masked? How so?”

Felix shot Ken a skeptical look, but Ken was too deep in Reporter Mode to acknowledge the glance.

“Um, a white mask. Two big eyes, a line for a mouth. This may sound strange, but I feel like they moved sometimes.”

Ken nodded, satisfied. Felix had to admit he'd been expecting a different sort of reaction to that information. The other man looked to be deep in thought. “Yeah, I’d assumed as much. I agree with you: I don’t think you were the first person t’ attack me. You wouldn’t carry knives on you if you were a Vox, not t’ mention...” Ken gestured at Felix’s face. “That explains why his voice...So if there was only—”

“Slow down! A Vox Mage? Their elemental is the voice, right? How could someone have attacked me with their voice? Besides that, didn't the Vox Mages all...I don't know, _die out_ , a few centuries ago?” He paused for a second. “And how did you know I was carrying blades on me?”

“‘Die out’?” Ken shook his head a little and scoffed. “You must be new t’ this.” Felix narrowed his eyes at Ken, but allowed him to continue. “Voxes are voice elementals, but they certainly don't sing at you. They’re the most powerful elemental of them all. They can use their voices t’ create, manipulate, and destroy things. Basically, they talk to things, and things do what they say. I knew you weren’t a Vox because they all wear masks t’ bolster their power, and you’re...not. As far as the blades, they're not very well concealed t’ the trained eye, but that’s certainly a good place to hide ‘em.” Ken gestured at the pockets in Felix’s sleeves where he kept his smaller daggers. “Accessibility and such. I’m assumin’ you can’t use magic at all?”

Felix nodded slowly and silently. Ken continued.

“As I was sayin’, if you only saw one person with a mask and magical abilities and were shot at by an unseen assailant, and I only saw you and was attacked by what I now infer was a Vox, it's very likely that we were the only people out there.”

“Why do you say that? It's entirely possible we were attacked by two or more people working together. The darkness would make it quite easy for a small group to masquerade as one extremely powerful entity. Not to mention there could easily have been another gun-man.”

“I am completely positive I was the only one firin’ shots, unless someone was managin’ t’ shoot at the exact same time as myself. However, you raise valid questions. In response, I will ask a question of my own: why were you out there?”

Felix, though thoroughly confused, answered, “For the radio show, obviously. My primary job is paranormal investigation. And you were out there because of your occupation as a journalist, correct?”

Ken nodded. “Who would be out in the woods so late at night unless they had a reason? Had it been the middle of the day, a dangerous practical joke of some sort would be a more viable option. No, I believe we can conclude, at this point in our little investigation, that there was only one other person in the woods with us. Now that the confusion between us has been dispersed, all we have t’ find—”

“ —is what the masked man—Vox Mage—was doing in the middle of the woods in the snow past midnight, and why he attacked us if he knew we weren’t apparitions,” Felix finished.

Ken grinned. “You pick things up fast. If the whole carrier-duck-empire-thing doesn't work out for you, you may just have a job workin’ for me.”

Felix grinned back. He liked Lord Ken a lot, despite the fact that he had tried to kill him. He'd said himself that he thought Felix might have been a dangerous apparition, and Felix would certainly have done the same thing had he been in Ken's situation.

“How about this: we can head t’ Late Night tonight so I can apologize for almost killin’ you and we can figure out what happened with the Vox,” Ken said, as the assistant that had brought Felix in motioned for him to come into the studio.

“Only if you're paying.”

“Deal.”


	4. The Second Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix and Ken's get-together at the Late Night Bar doesn't quite go according to plan when they run into a strangely familiar masked stranger...

As it turned out, Lords Felix and Ken did not go to the Late Night Bar that night, as Ken received a message saying he was needed urgently in Mitten to report on a fire in the city of Reva Mills. Ken followed that story for a good five days before returning back to the capital. However, they had managed to find a day the next week to get together, and they now sat in Felix’s carriage, idly chatting about their lives and experiences.

Felix had learned a lot about Ken during their ride: Ken had a wife, Lady Mary, who was a Green Mage; he owned two dogs and two snakes; he had grown up in Syd and moved to Victubia City with Mary a few months ago to expand his journalistic horizons; the rest of Ken’s family worked in arms manufacturing and blacksmithery, and that was how he’d learned to shoot. In return, Felix had told him a fair amount as well: how he had been approached about starting a radio show while still living in Orkan; how he and Marzia had moved a few weeks ago to continue studying the paranormal, and so that Marzia could follow her dream of starting a clothing line; how his family had been breeding carrier ducks for as far back as could be traced. It was quite the enjoyable conversation, and again Felix found himself wondering about the irony of becoming close friends with one of the only two people who had made an effort to seriously wound him. 

Finally they had arrived. They stepped out of the carriage and thanked the driver, standing side-by-side in front of the brick building. The Late Night Bar radiated a warm, welcoming energy. Felix smiled. 

“Believe it or not, I actually haven’t been in here yet.” 

“Why not?” Ken asked.

“I haven’t had a good reason to, especially not with my recovery and all the unpacking Marzia and I have had to do.”

Ken groaned. “Mary and I still haven’t unpacked everything in the house. She works late at the clinic most nights. I came here a few times after Silent Woods; not sure what it is about bars but they really help a reporter gather his thoughts.”

“That why you invited me here? To gather your thoughts?”

“Well, duh. That, and Late Night’s the best bar in the capital, maybe all of Victubia. Apparently I’ve been missing out on my few visits, though: one of the bartenders—Scott, I think his name is—mentioned the owner’s been out with an injury, and he’s the one that makes their specialty drinks.”

Felix nodded and both of them looked up at the bar’s magically glowing orange sign swinging above the door.

“Why are we still standin’ here again?” Ken said, after a moment.

“I don’t know, actually,” Felix replied.

“Did you wanna—” 

“We probably should, yes.”

Ken bowed overdramatically, gesturing towards the door. “After you, milord.”

Felix sighed, rolling his eyes, and Ken snorted, as if he could see Felix’s face. He straightened up but continued gesturing emphatically at the door of the bar.

“Well?” Ken said. “’S now or never, Felix. I  _ promise  _ no one in there’s gonna kill you.”

Felix rolled his eyes again, but smiled and walked to the doors. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Ken.”

Felix and Ken sat themselves at the bar and began discussing how they were going to find the Vox mage that had attacked them. In the busy establishment, speaking in a normal volume was like whispering, so the two had no problem keeping their conversation to themselves.

“So, where do you propose we start looking? If I understand correctly, there aren't many Vox mages left. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“You do understand correctly: there are only four known Vox mages in the country. They're known for being the crafty type: their scarcity is certainly not in our favor.”

“Wonderful,” Felix replied sarcastically. “And, remind me again, why we’re looking for this crafty and extremely rare mage that actively tried to kill us the last time we encountered him?” 

Ken looked at Felix like he was crazy. “For answers. Obviously.”

“Ken, I really don’t know if our mystery mage is the answering type, not unless graphic methods of execution count as an answer.”

Ken scoffed. “You act as if you don’t want t’ know why he tried t’ kill you.”

“I don’t, if it means he gets another chance to carve my heart out of my chest.”

Ken sighed. “Felix, this ain’t just about you and me. We know literally nothing about this man, and he could be doing all sorts of things t’ innocent civilians. This ain’t just about answers; it’s about protection of the populace.”

“Why don’t we go to the police then?’ Felix pressed. “They’re much better equipped to handle this than we are.”

“We know what we’re looking for, and we know what this man can do. Besides, I want answers, not immediate imprisonment. I’d never be able t’ get t’ him if the police were involved. Not t’ mention...” Ken trailed off.

“Not to mention what?”

“...if things go bad,” Ken said grimly, “there’ll be less casualties. The press coverage for the murder of two lords would get our mage captured just as fast as the murder of 20 police officers.”

Felix’s mouth dropped in horror. “You’re...really serious about this whole ‘noble knight for the public’ thing, huh?” Ken shook his head. 

“You’re confusin’ nobility with self-interest,” he replied. “I only work for myself and my people. ’S why I do what I do, you know? I got a lot of people in this city that I care about, Felix, and I got to look after ‘em. I ain’t tryin’ to save everybody, but if a price needs to be paid...

“If a price needs to be paid, better my head over theirs.”

Felix was saved the seemingly impossible task of responding to the reveal of Ken’s inner psyche by one of the orange-vested bartenders. He had darker brown hair going up in a short spike and warm brown eyes.

Ken’s previously stormy expression brightened at the sight of the man. “Scott!”

“Ken, my man! How are you?”

“Gettin’ by, doin’ the usual, you know. Tellin’ my friend over here about your lovely establishment. You?”

“Same as always: mixing drinks and dodging glasses.”

“I thought you weren’t workin’ today.” Ken said, shifting his head onto his fists.

“I did, too, but, uh,” Scott jerked his thumb back behind him, “the boss just got back, and the rest of us figured we might as well come see him.”

Ken looked where Scott was pointing, and his eyes widened for a millisecond before he turned back to Scott. “Can you...give us a second?”

Scott, though he looked confused, nodded and slid off to serve the next person. Ken lowered his voice and leaned in closer to Felix. “Is that him?”

“You can't be serious,” Felix scoffed. “That guy is a bar owner, not a cold-blooded killer.”

“May I remind you,” Ken hissed back, “that there are only four Vox mages in the entire country, and by the will of Lady Fortune, we've encountered one on our first real day of looking. So, do me a favor, and look.”

Felix craned his neck to see. There was a small, compact group of the bartenders standing around and talking animatedly. Near the middle of the group, with his back to Felix, was a man about Ken's height with his brown hair slicked back and a white mask. There was no denying he was a Vox Mage. The two men could have been the same height, the same build. Their hair could have been the same color, but the lighting could just have been playing tricks on Felix's eyes.

“I don't know, it might be him. I can't really tell.”

“Wait until he turns around. If the masks are different, he's not the one we're looking for.”

“Can't their masks change, though? With emotion and expression?”

“Yes, but only so much. It's still the same mask, the same face. Here, he's turning; tell me what you see.”

The sight of the mask sent a shock through Felix's system, but he wasn't sure why: the masks weren't the same. The mouth was the same straight line, but the eyes were simple circles, not the large almond-shaped eyes the mage in the woods had. Where Felix's attacker had been practically devoid of emotion, this man radiated warmth even from this distance, despite his hidden features. Still, the mage in front of Felix was unsettling.

“Well?” Ken asked.

“It's not him,” Felix replied, putting his face into his hands. “The masks aren't the same.” 

Ken sighed. “I don't know whether t’ be relieved or depressed.” He paused for a moment. “Hold on, I think Scott's bringing him over here.” Felix's head shot up and, indeed, their bartender was walking towards them with the Vox closely behind him. Ken looked concerned. “D’you think he overheard us?” he asked.

Scott came up to the two men and leaned on the bar. “Figured I'd introduce you guys to the boss, since you looked a little lonely over here.” He gestured regally at the mage, who was holding his face in one of his gloves hands, as if he were disappointed. “I have the distinct pleasure of introducing Lord Cryaotic, owner of the Late Night Bar, skilled Vox Mage, unofficial advisor to Her Majesty the Queen, and—”

“And you can stop there,” the Vox—Lord Cryaotic—laughed, and Felix's blood ran cold. “Jund, you're boring my patrons out the bar. Go do something useful.” He shooed the other man off and turned fully to face Felix and Ken. Felix didn't know if his heart was closer to stopping or beating out his chest. “I'm Cry. I don't think I've seen you two here before, but Jund seems to know you, so I'm assuming you started coming in while I was out.”

Felix didn't think; he didn't  _ need _ to think, the violent buzzing feeling of his Sense was thinking for him. In the blink of an eye, Felix had pulled out a golden rapier hidden in his cane and directed its clean point at the mage’s heart. His stool clattered to the floor behind him.

Cry stepped back. Felix couldn't tell if he was staring at him or the blade that threatened to end his life. Ken had sprung up from his seat, wielding an elaborately embellished pistol in each hand. One pistol was trying in vain to force Felix's sword hand down, the other trained steadily on the minimalistic white mask. The entire room had gone silent.

Felix could hear the blood rushing in his ears as he faced the mage yet again. In his mind, three words repeated themselves over and over, falling in time with his ragged breathing.

_ It was you _ .

Ken was saying something, presumably to calm Felix down, but he might as well have not been there: Felix couldn't hear anything over the never-ending mantra cycling through his head.

Most of the bartenders were too shocked to do more than stand frozen. One of them, a woman with flaming orange hair and glasses, was also moving her mouth. In her hand she held a swirling ball of fire. Felix's vision was tunneling. He pressed the tip of the rapier deeper into the orange leather vest.

_ It was you it was you it was you it was you it was you. _

Through the haze of these words, a voice,  _ his voice _ , sounded, clear and calm and completely controlled.

“Red, it's fine.”

The world began to come back into focus. The barrels of Ken's guns were now pointed at both of the other men. The ginger—Red, as she was so aptly named—was still advancing on Ken and Felix threateningly, the flames in her hand growing more and more agitated with every step. Ken shifted the aim of his right hand from Cry to the approaching Red.

“Red, stop.” Cry turned towards Red a little, still keeping his eyes on Felix. He spoke more forcefully this time, and the command extinguished Red’s fireball. Cry turned back and addressed the other two lords facing him.

“I'd prefer to avoid any type of...skirmish inside my establishment,” he said coolly, his easy tone enraging Felix even more, “but I would be more than happy to discuss whatever grievances I may have caused you.”

There was a moment of absolute silence. Ken shot Felix a prompting look and, somewhat reluctantly, Felix sheathed his golden rapier back inside his cane. The bar’s patrons let out an audible sigh of relief.

Cryaotic stepped from behind the bar, not taking his eyes off Felix, and headed towards one of the side exits. Ken shot daggers at Red as he, Felix and Cry exited the building, and she snarled back with a primal anger.

As soon as the three men stepped into the alleyway outside Late Night, Felix and Cry whirled on each other. They spoke the same words simultaneously: Cry in wonderment, Felix in ire. 

“It was  _ you _ .”

“The swordsman in the woods, you—”

Felix put a hand on the handle of his concealed rapier. “The mage that attacked me—!”

“Whoa, whoa, hold on, y’all,” Ken cut in, shifting himself in between the other two and holding out an arm as a barrier between them. He stepped closer to Felix and lowered his voice. “How can you be so sure this’s him?”

“I'm not,” Felix replied, “but my Sense is, and it hasn't been wrong yet.”

“Ain’t the Sense only effective for ghosts and spirits?”

“It works on a lot of things,” Felix replied vaguely, “and this is one of them. I'm completely positive this is our mage. Besides, he admitted to it himself.” Felix raised his voice. “Didn't you?”

Cry, who was doing the magical equivalent of twiddling his thumbs, looked up and asked confusedly, “Didn't I what?”

“Attack me,” Felix replied, “in the Silent Woods, obviously. You said you'd seen me before, yes?” 

“Well, yeah, but...” Cry took a deep breath. “I have no idea where I've seen you before, outside of the fact that it was in a wood somewhere. I don't even know who you are.”

“That makes two of us,” Ken mumbled to himself. He directed his question at Cry: “So you don't remember any of Silent Woods?”

Cry shook his head vehemently, and the other two lords shared an incredulous and skeptical look.

Together, they recounted the chain of events as best they could: the anonymous tips both of them had received, the unexpected meetings in the forest, and Felix and Ken's official introduction only a week prior. It took them close to 45 minutes but when they had finished, Cry's fog of confusion still hadn't fully cleared yet.

“Okay, so, now I know why you wanted to kill me,” he said, “but I still don't know...”

“Don't know what?” Ken asked, panting a little, as if his storytelling had taken a tremendous amount of effort.

“To be honest,” Cry said, sighing, “I don't know much of anything. I was in and out of consciousness for the two weeks leading up to Silent Woods, and I—”

“‘In and outta consciousness?’” Ken asked, his voice holding a note of skepticism. “For two weeks? What were you, bedridden?”

“Obviously not, if you saw me in the woods,” the mage sneered condescendingly. “I was...I don’t know. I don’t remember most of those two weeks, and ‘in and out of consciousness’ is the simplest way to describe the feeling.”

“I hardly believe that.”

“I wouldn’t either,” Cry agreed. “But I had to live it, so I didn’t have a choice. Really, that’s all I can give you. I wasn’t aware of the passing of time while I was under, and the times when I came back in, when I was aware of what was going on around me, are hazy at most: asking Ziegs up at the castle for a favor, reading a book I didn’t understand, riding in a carriage back to the Silent Woods, et cetera, et cetera.”

“‘Back’?” Ken asked.

“Back to the woods, yeah. I’ve been there a couple times before; there are a lot of Sup Guy spirits there during the fall, so I like to go and visit the little rascals sometimes. I’m familiar with the area, but I’ve never been this time of year, it’s too cold.” Cry shivered, as if the memory of cold was enough to chill him. That, or he was actually cold standing outside in the middle of February.

Ken stroked his chin thoughtfully. “What about when you were in the woods? Anything you remember?”

“Pain, mostly,” replied the other. “But I was only conscious briefly before I went back under. It was like coming up for air in a lake and being pushed back under again. There were lots of littler flashes—scratches and bruises and things brought me back for the time span of a blink—but there are three I remember clearly; those are my biggest wounds. The first big flash was when I was still in the woods. I was running from something, though I’m not sure why. In the second I was facing someone, but I couldn’t see their face, it was too blurry. In the last flash I only saw white. After that, I blacked out, and when I woke up, I was fine. Well, not fine, but...” Cry shrugged. “I was fully conscious and that was what mattered. The GMs were able to reverse the early effects of frostbite I had gotten, and my life was, surprisingly, not completely in shambles.”

“Alright, then, one last question from me,” Ken said. “You said you were injured severely—where?”

“Uh.. _ here _ ,” he put his hand onto his lower right side, “Is where I got shot while I was running, I’d assume from you, Ken, as you’re the only person here with a firearm of any sort.  _ Here _ ,” he lifted his right foot, “is where my calf muscle tore. I was in the snow for this one; when I woke up, I couldn’t walk right, and this is why. This thing is also why I was out for so long. The last one, where I got cut, is  _ here _ .” He turned his head, and Felix saw the shiny, inflamed place when he himself had sliced the mage’s neck.

Felix’s mind was working furiously. 

His Sense had not failed him; Lord Cryaotic was the quite certainly the man Felix had encountered in the forest. Despite this, the mage seemed to be a perfectly cooperative and well-mannered person. Felix also questioned how an intimidating potential murderer with a thirst for blood was able to successfully run a popular bar.

Ken looked at Felix worriedly. In all his short time knowing the other, Ken had never seen him so quiet. However, he understood the silence: as Felix was the only one to have seen their attacker and personally interacted with him, it was up to Felix to figure out what the hell was going on.

“One question.” Felix finally spoke just as Ken was about to call off their impromptu interrogation. “Forgive me for asking this, as I know very little about Vox magic, but can the eyes on your mask change? Can they enlarge?”

“They can change, yes.” Cry closed his eyes to demonstrate. “But I've never known them to get bigger.”

Felix ruminated on this information. How had the mask changed in the woods, then? If Cry wasn't able to change the size of the eyes on his mask, who was? Not to mention the peculiarity of the week leading up to the Silent Woods encounter...

Suddenly, the metaphorical candle above Felix's head ignited.

“Possession!” he burst out. The other two lords visibly flinched.

“God, I'm such an idiot, of course it was possession! The amnesia, the altered appearance, my Sense—!”

“Hold up. Possession?” Ken interrupted. “I may not know as much as you on the subject of the paranormal, but I was under the impression that possession didn't happen t’ mages.”

“People immune to possession?” Felix scoffed, mimicking Ken's tone of the day they had first met. “You must be new to this.”

Ken looked simultaneously amused and exasperated, but stayed silent.

“Possession is less common in mages, and the stronger the mage, the more resistance they have, but it can certainly still happen,” Felix explained, beginning to pace up and down the dark alley. “Spirits also attract other spirits, usually spirits on the other side of the light/dark spectrum, so to speak. The presence of the benevolent Sup Guy spirits may have attracted something much stronger and much nastier.”

Ken was looking more and more confused. “So, Lord Cryaotic goes into the forest in autumn, and—”

“ —our spirit tries to possess one of the only humans that visits the woods. They're called the Silent Woods for a reason, you know. It, the spirit, can't: Cry is one of the most powerful mages in Victubia, after all. So, instead of simply giving up, it imbues Cry with a piece of itself so it can track him, essentially keeping tabs on him so it can fully possess him when it becomes stronger. About two weeks before—”

“Wait, a ghost breakin’ off pieces of itself t’ use as trackers?” Ken interrupted. “‘S that even possible?”

Felix stopped pacing and stared directly at Ken with a look of slight annoyance. “I haven't been studying the paranormal and the supernatural for three years for entertainment; this is my  _ job _ . If I say it's possible, it is.”

Felix started pacing again. “As I was saying before I was so  _ rudely _ interrupted, two weeks before our...visit is when you started experiencing the amnesia, right, Cry?”

Cry only nodded. Any emotions he was feeling were not displayed in the mask. 

“This was probably when the spirit began to get stronger. The day we all met must have been the height of its power. It was trying to possess you that night, Cry. My guess is that it would have succeeded, too, had Ken and I not been present and injured you severely enough to prevent you from making contact. I dread to think what would occur if a malevolence like that were to take control of someone of Cry's talent and skill. Vandalism, regicide, mass hypnotism and subsequent arming of the entire population. Chaos and bloodshed would ensue.”

Cry, who had been silently shocked for the entire explanation, finally spoke after a moment and a cough.

“Wow, I, uh...thank you. I never thought I'd have to thank someone for almost killing me, but, uh...” He ruined the back of his neck, shifting awkwardly. “I, uh, I’m all too familiar with the amount of damage I could do if I got...out of hand, so, uh, thanks. And, I guess I'm sorry for trying to kill you and all, I, uh, I hope you know I didn't actually mean it, what with being possessed and all.”

“Eh, don't worry about it. Happens to the best of us,” Felix said suavely. “Maybe I'd forgive you if you could repay Lord Kenneth here and myself with free drinks?”

The eyes of Cry's mask narrowed to slits, but his tone was playful when he spoke.

“You two put me out my job for a week, shot me, threw knives at me, held a sword and a gun to my face in the middle of my own bar, and now you want a free drink?”

“We  _ did  _ keep you from destroyin’ the entirety of the country and annihilatin’ all of its citizens,” Ken pointed out, sidling up to Felix. “I'm not sayin’ we deserve it, but...” He shrugged.

Cry sighed. “You know what? Fuck it, why not? After that explanation I might need a drink.”

“Good man!” Ken exclaimed, clapping Cry on the back.

“Now, let's get back inside, shall we?” Felix said, rubbing his hands together and walking back towards the door. “My fingers are going numb.”


	5. BONUS: The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix finishes telling his story to his green-haired friend as the Late Night Bar closes up for the night.

“And we all lived happily ever after. Ken and I got our free drinks, Red didn't kill us, and it turns out those other two idiots I mentioned aren't half bad, even now,” Felix finished, with something of a flourish.

“So that’s how ya met!”

Jack McLoughlin leaned back in his chair, grinning, his mess of hair covering his sickly-looking right eye. “I don’t know why you’ve never told me that story. I would’ve thought you’d met at some fancy lord-soirée or somethin’.  One question, though: what’d you do about the anon?”

“What do you mean?” Felix asked.

“Well, they obviously knew somethin’ about Cry's possession. That's why they called you and Ken; a paranormal investigator to get the ghost, and a reporter to tell the story.”

“But there are plenty of both in Victubia,” Felix replied. “Why us?”

“Because you're the easiest to reach, obviously!” Jack set the other two legs of his chair down and brushed his hair out of his eyes. Felix could see both of them clearly now: the irises were a blue quite close to his own, though Felix thought Jack's were a brighter blue than his. However, the sclera of his right eye was an unnatural shade of green, and while Felix knew the eye was simply that color because that was where Jack's magic originated, it still made his stomach turn.

Jack was waving his hands emphatically, searching for words. “Besides that, I mean, maybe if the anon had—” Jack cut himself off at the aporetic look Felix gave him.

“No, please go on,” Felix said sincerely, gesturing for his green-haired tablemate to continue. “I'll indulge your crazy ramblings. I want to see where you're going with this.”

“They're not crazy ramblins! This is insightful discussion right here!” Jack replied petulantly. “Ugh, anyways. Think of it like the anon would, like someone who's familiar with all of ya, for just a moment. Lord Felix Kjellberg, more popularly known as Lord Pewdiepie, the epitome of success: a pioneer in the field of paranormal investigation with a long-standin’ industrial empire behind him. Lord Kenneth Morrison, epitome of chivalry: editor and lead reporter for the most popular newspaper in the entire country, the man who refused knighthood because he wanted to continue protecting the public through journalism. Lord Cryaotic, the epitome of magical prowess: one of the last Vox mages in the world, as well as the owner of the country's most popular bar, unofficial advisor to the Queen and leader of a group of rare and powerful mages.”

“You talk as if you're a fan of us or something,” Felix smirked.

“Maybe I was,” Jack replied defensively, “till I found out what assholes you were. I'm talkin’ like the anon here, not tryin’ to blow up your ego. My point is, you guys are livin’ superlatives, not to mention you and Ken are pretty easy to reach. If someone was an admirer of all of ya, would it be completely crazy to think they might have wanted you all to team up?”

“Maybe, but it also wouldn't be completely crazy to think they hated all of us and wanted us to kill each other. Always with the conspiracy theories,” Felix replied jokingly, shaking his head. “Come on, you don't really think someone would take the time to plan out the details of our meeting, do you? Why go through all that trouble, realistically? And there were so many things that could have gone wrong.”

“Well, ya don’t honestly expect me to believe all of  _ your  _ story’s true,” Jack replied, crossing his arms.

“Yes, I do, because my story _is_ true!”

“Nope. I think you’re lyin’. I have a sneakin’ suspicion that you’re sittin’ over there, bein’ a liar.”

“What!?” Felix laid his hand on his heart in mock offense. “How dare you charge me with such heavy crimes! Perjury,” he scoffed, “I would never!”

Jack just laughed.

“It’s entirely true, though, beginning to end,” Felix said. “See, look—Cry! Cry, get over here!”

Lord Cryaotic was behind the bar, and poked his head out from under the counter with a questioning sound of some sort.

“Isn’t my story true, Cry?”

“I don’t know what story you’re telling but, uh, ‘probably not’ is my guess,” Cry replied, ducking back under the counter to retrieve something else.

Jack shot a triumphant “I-told-you-so” sort of look at his blond companion and Felix called Cry again.  

“Just come over here, I’m tired of having to call you.”

“Why don’t you come over here?” Cry asked, setting his fists on the top of the counter. Obviously he hadn’t found what he was looking for. “I’m tired of being called.”

“You’re not gonna make me get up, are you?”

“I’m not gonna make you do anything, but if you want to talk to me you’ll get up.”

Jack got up readily: Felix was having none of it. His nose was in the air and he was leaning on his cane pretentiously. Jack snatched his top-hat, sitting unassumingly on the table, and twirled it in between his fingers. 

“What are you doing with my hat, you bitch!?” 

“Come and get it if ya want it so much!” Jack taunted, flipping the hat into the air. 

After running about the bar for a bit, Jack sat at a barstool and tossed the hat in Cry’s direction. Cry glanced up from cleaning the counter and a warm, glowing orange mist froze the hat in midair and lowered the hat onto the bar counter. Felix snatched it up with a huff and sat down. Jack admired the swirling mist until the last vestiges of it had faded. He had always been intrigued by Cry’s form of magic. It was different in some ways from other Vox mages he had seen, it was...more alive, almost. He and Cry were both mages with rare powers, but Jack had a special respect for the Voxes. 

“Anyways, I was saying that I wasn’t lying about how I met you and Ken, Cry,” Felix said, still brushing his hat off in disgust.

“Oh, you’re telling  _ that _ story,” Cry said, taking two bottles off the glass shelf behind him and two glasses. Jack had stayed late enough times to know that Cry always made free specialty drinks for the last few people in the bar. It was a sort of wind-down from the chaos of the night for him. “Yeah, Pewds is pretty good about telling that story right, mostly ‘cause he knows Ken and I’ll be on his ass if he doesn’t. He forgets things, though.” He addressed Felix. “So, you told him the whole story?”

Felix nodded. 

The bottles on the counter poured themselves into the glasses. “Did you tell him about the possession?”

“Yes,” Felix replied. Cry muttered something quietly and the liquid inside the glasses shone brightly before dimming down a soft glow. 

The glasses slid themselves towards Jack and Felix. Jack took a sip of the drink as Cry continued talking. It was a luminescent lavender, and the surface of the drink was still bubbling like some witch’s potion. Despite this, the drink was ice cold when Jack put it to his lips. It was a strange mixture of mint, rosemary, and a type of alcohol that Jack couldn’t put his finger on. It was quite the confusing concoction, but it wasn’t unpleasant. “And the part where you threw a knife into my calf?”

“Okay, you already forgave me for that, and yes, of course I did. I know how to tell a st—”

“Did you tell him about how the cut on my neck from where you _ could’ve fucking killed me _ still hasn’t healed yet?”

“What?” Felix and Jack said in unison, although Jack mostly choked out the word. Felix scoffed. “Ignoring your obvious touchiness at one of my few near-fatal mistakes: Cry, it’s been almost 3 years. I’m having a lot of trouble believing that thing hasn’t healed yet.”

“See?” Cry tilted his head to the right, as Felix took a sip of his drink passively. Jack studied Cry’s face, and only realized at that moment that there was indeed nothing attaching Cry’s mask to his face. He hadn’t thought much of it when Felix was telling him the story; it was a strange detail to take note of. Jack had a strong urge to yank on the mask and see if it would come off, but resisted. Jack also noticed that Cry had a strong jaw, and the urge to see what his face looked like grew. Jack took another drink and looked away, taking a slow, deep breath.

“You look completely fine to me,” Felix said, leaning over the counter to see a little better. “We’re not giving you sympathy for that victim bullshit you like to pull whenever I bring this story up.” He glared at Cry, ice blue eyes wide. The eyes on Cry’s mask narrowed at Felix, and he turned to Jack. “Give me your hand,” he commanded, holding out his own gloved one. Jack obeyed, and Cry laid Jack’s hand delicately on his own throat. His skin was cool. Jack could feel his pulse beating harshly under the thin skin. It was a strangely intimate gesture, and while Jack didn't feel uncomfortable, he felt like he was doing something he shouldn't be.

“You can move, you know,” Cry chuckled, after a moment. His voice had dropped an octave into a soft rumble. Jack felt the vibrations of Cry’s voice through his skin, and shivers went up his back. “See if you can feel it; scar’s hard to see sometimes.”

Jack brushed his long fingers over the skin, feeling for the scar. After a second or so, Jack felt a raised line under his fingers. He traced it gently. It was long, and almost a completely straight line. Jack was surprised the wound was so hard to see with how noticeable it felt. “Felix got ya good, didn't he?” Jack said, pulling his hand away.

“Yeah he did. You know, it was so bad, the GMs didn't want to fully heal it: scared they'd accidentally cut off an artery or something. They ended up just covering it. Say what you want about him, the idiot next to you knows his way around a blade or seven.”

Meanwhile, Felix was retching in the background. “Jesus fucking Christ, get a room,” he gagged. “Aren't you both dating other people anyways? Come on, Jack, let's get out of here before you kiss Cry or something and I actually throw up.” 

It was Jack’s turn to roll his eyes at Felix, and Cry put his face into his hand and let it an exasperated breath, shaking his head. 

“Well, are we going or not?” Felix asked, beginning to sit up. In the span of a second, Cry shared a mischievous look with Jack and flicked his wrist. Felix's stool, almost of its own accord, dumped him onto the slick floor with a thud.

“Oh, man, what happened?” Cry asked, snickering. “You ne—”

“Fuck you!”

Cry laughed heartily and Jack giggled as Felix cursed in a language Jack didn't recognize.

“You two, in the same room together,” Felix grumbled to himself as he pulled himself up with his cane and replaced his hat on his head. “ _ Never again. _ ”

Jack was already halfway towards the door as Felix struggled to get up without putting too much weight on his bad leg. “Do you require any assistance, milady?” Jack asked in an over-exaggerated accent. Felix got to his feet and looked from Cry, floating bottles back onto the glass shelf behind him, and Jack, who was slowly inching his way towards the door.

“I fucking hate you two.”

Cry and Jack grinned.

“Ugh, Jack, let's  _ go _ . Poor Mr. Chair has probably been waiting outside for at least twenty minutes.”

“Bye, Felix,” Cry called in a sing-song voice.

“Don't ever talk to me again,” Felix replied, making his exit out the heavy mahogany doors of the building. Cry's laughter followed him out the door.

Jack trailed after him. “Thanks for the drinks, Cry. Don't be a stranger.”

“Hey, you wanna talk or something, you know where to find me.”

Jack pushed against the door with his back, taking in the quiet space: the booths and wooden tables, the sparkling shelves of exotic spirits, the classy bar counter made of the same dark-reddish wood as the doors. As the door opened to a brisk gale, Jack saw one of the eye outlines of Cry's mask wink at him. Jack grinned and returned the gesture, and the door closed behind him.

Back into another cold January's night.

Back into Victubia.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and reviews are appreciated, and, as always, I hope you enjoyed the story! If you did, consider reading the Victubia comic Gabbi is in the process of making! You can find it on Tapastic here: https://tapastic.com/series/victubia  
> And on Tumblr here: http://victubia-comic.tumblr.com/post/139195635271/read-victubia-httpvictubiacomiccom  
> I encourage you to leave comments if you're new to the Victubia fandom, we Victubians have got to stick together :-D


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